


Crooked Branches

by sanserifnotes (tuesdayafternoon)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Gen, M/M, Merlin Christmas Fest, Merthur - Freeform, puns terrible puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 13:41:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2775104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdayafternoon/pseuds/sanserifnotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s so annoying when you’re trying to wait in the dark, alone, for a phone call during the holidays and a Christmas tree shows up at your front door. Watching the phone is tiring enough without adding a good friend and some festivity to the equation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crooked Branches

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://s1.favim.com/orig/3/bokeh-christmas-christmas-tree-ornament-photography-Favim.com-152739.jpg) for [merlinchristmasfest](http://merlinchristmasfest.tumblr.com/). Also available on [my blog](http://sanserifnotes.tumblr.com/).

Amidst the crunch of snow under tyres outside, and above the excited chatter of the street below his window, and over the Christmas carols drifting in the air with the chill, Arthur hears his phone vibrate. He’s off the couch in a second, forgetting that his mobile has been resting on his chest for the better part of an hour as he valiantly tries to doze. He picks it up off the floor.

One message, from Merlin.

Arthur sighs and climbs onto the couch once more, cradling the phone in one hand and curling into the cushions. He pulls the crocheted rug up from where it’s stuffed down beside the arm of the chair and drapes it haphazardly over his legs.

The sun set hours ago, but despite that, it isn’t late. Arthur hates that about the holidays: the short days. The cold.

When the doorbell sounds half an hour later, Arthur’s of half a mind to leave it unanswered. But then the insistent knocking starts (in the rhythm of ‘Jingle Bells’, if Arthur’s not mistaken) and his mobile buzzes afresh, so he relents and, irritated, he strides to the door.

He stares at the synthetic Christmas tree that greets him in the doorway.

“Ah!” it says, sprouting knitwear-clad arms and Converse-shod feet and waddling into Arthur’s flat. “You got my message! Thank god – it’s freezing out there, and I just about fell on my arse trying to get this off the train.”

Arthur snorts and taps at his phone; the message he had ignored reads, ‘im coming over. be awake’. He tucks the phone into his pocket.

“This looks like a good spot.” With the tree placed in the corner next to the window, Merlin brushes off his hands and dumps his satchel, full to bursting, onto the floor. He looks at Arthur and smiles, rubbing his hands together. “You weren’t busy, were you, Arthur?”

Arthur quickly collects two empty mugs and a glass from beside the chair and places them in the kitchen, just out of view. “Merlin,” Arthur growls, “what are you doing here?”

Merlin’s grin grows wider. “I thought I’d come  _spruce_  up the place a bit!” He pats the tree heartily for emphasis, and when Arthur doesn’t laugh along with him, he adds, “get it? Spruce?”

“Good one,” Arthur says flatly. Then, “Seriously, Merlin.”

A phone chirps, and Arthur forgets he’s waiting for Merlin to respond. He’s flipping through his messages in a heartbeat, but there’s nothing new.

“Sorry, that’s me,” Merlin says as he silences his own mobile and stuffs it into a pocket in his jeans. “Mum signs me up for all these promotional text messages – I think she thinks it’ll remind me that I need to buy groceries more than once every few months. Especially bread, since it tends to, erm, grow, if you leave it too long.” He looks up, and Arthur tries to discreetly put his phone away. But Arthur sees the furrow form on Merlin’s forehead and knows he’s busted. “Still nothing from him?” Merlin asks.

Arthur swallows. “No.”

“Gee, I knew your dad was a bastard, but Christmas is supposed to –“

“Don’t talk about my father like that, Merlin.” Arthur sighs. “If you wouldn’t mind, I think I’d rather just be – ”

Christmas decorations go everywhere as Merlin upends his bag. The fairy lights play a drunken game of Twister amongst themselves, the red Christmas crackers roll across the floor like they’ve eaten too much, and the golden baubles skitter across Arthur’s lounge room with a sound like they’re giggling at a joke that’s only funny because of the way the person who tells it laughs. From the soft crinkling sound the bag makes when it’s dropped to the side and the sparkling red which peaks out from behind a zipper, there’s yet more stuff crammed into various other pockets. 

Merlin gives him a Look. “If you were going to say ‘alone’, I will force you to watch  _Frozen_ again – don’t think I won’t.”

“Oh god,” Arthur says, holding up his hands.

“Oh yes.” Merlin makes his eyes bulge with mock-menace. “The sing-along version.”

“Anything but that.” Arthur bends down to pick up a bauble and huffs, supposedly in exasperation. He reaches out to return it to Merlin –

– who ignores him, and begins to untangle the lights and drape them over the tree. “I figure there’s no point in both of us sitting around alone, feeling sorry for ourselves,” Merlin says enthusiastically as he tackles a particularly stubborn knot. “Nothing like tree decorating to put an end to idle pining!” He turns to Arthur, expectant. “Pine-ing?”

Arthur just rolls his eyes. “Yes, Merlin, I got it.”

“And I’ll go out on a limb here and guess that you don’t really appreciate my humour branching out to tree puns.”

It becomes clear to Arthur that Merlin isn’t going to take the bauble so he lowers his hand and begins to trace the glitter pattern on its surface with his fingertips. Arthur shakes his head (more of a ‘what am I going to do with you’ kind of movement rather than disagreement) and gestures to the kitchen. “If you’re gonna stay, do you want a drink?”

“Hang on.” Merlin takes three steps backwards, inspecting his work with the lights. Apparently satisfied, he sweeps up his bag and takes out an armful of red tinsel, transferring it promptly to Arthur, ignoring the noise of indignation, and saying, “Hold this! I’ll get drinks,” before wandering off to the kitchen.

Arthur’s gaze flickers from the tinsel to the tree, then towards the kitchen and back to the tree again. Bits of shiny red PVC are joining the dull green ones on his floor, and if he doesn’t clear them up, they’ll be all over his flat soon enough. But instead, he takes a knee and begins to awkwardly wind the tinsel around the tree from the bottom upwards, intertwining it with Merlin’s lights, letting the slightly crooked branches support it.

When he’s finished, Arthur studies his handiwork. It’s far from perfect: he hasn’t kept the tinsel’s tension uniform; there’s too big a gap between some layers and too small a one between others. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Merlin’s shadow still moving around his kitchen; he hears off-key humming from there, too. He checks his phone, even though it’s been quiet and still, and he sighs. Arthur fiddles with the end of the tinsel, some of the red strands coming away with his fingers. He begins to unwind it.

“Looks good!” Merlin enters the room carrying two mugs, and Arthur drops his hand from the tree almost guiltily.

He accepts the mug Merlin offers, but eyes it a little warily. “Hot chocolate?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “I was hoping for something a little stronger.”

“Just drink it, you prat. It’s my mum’s recipe.”

Arthur breathes in its warmth for a moment. “I guess it doesn’t smell too bad. What’s in it?”

“Y’know, the usual stuff. Milk. Chocolate powder.”

Arthur drinks a mouthful –

“Tequila, cayenne.”

– and, unprepared, nearly spits it out again. “ _Mer_ lin!”

“Speaking of, you’re going to need more Don Julio.” Merlin laughs as he drinks from his own mug. “Good, huh?”

Once the surprise wears off, Arthur finds that it actually is – not that he’ll ever admit that to Merlin.

“Mum says hi, by the way,” Merlin adds, taking a deep breath and talking a little too quickly. “She’s sorry she couldn’t come over for the holidays. Maybe next year I’ll be able to help her out with her plane ticket.”

“Oh,” says Arthur, “I could’ve…”

“Nah, she barely lets me help with that sort of thing.” Arthur opens his mouth to continue, but Merlin says, “Come on,” and scoops up a decoration. He throws it to Arthur, who instinctively catches it with his free hand. Merlin smiles. “We’ve got work to do.”

It takes forever, and no time at all: that’s what it feels like. They hang the decorations and nestle the Christmas crackers amidst the branches of the tree. Their mugs become empty, and through the fuzz in his head, Arthur has the sneaky suspicion that he lets a couple of smirks through the net at Merlin’s steady, gentle chatter (“I was on a roll with my tree humour, and you just went and cut me down!”). Although the cold and darkness of outside grows colder and darker, inside a metre-long extension cord and a changed lightbulb creates a comforting warmth that comes in the form of blue, red, and yellow flickers of light that pass across the ceiling. When the quiet buzz of alcohol begins to feed their tiredness, Merlin lies on his back on the floor in front of the tree, and Arthur would feel like an idiot standing or sitting all the way across the room on the couch, so he has no choice but to join him.

Arthur reaches up to tap a golden bauble and watch it dance. “You know,” he says quietly, “despite your commandeering my living room, and drinking my booze, and dropping those godawful tree puns…” Merlin snorts. Arthur ignores him and forces himself to continue. “I had fun doing…all of this. I guess…thank you.”

Merlin doesn’t reply straight away, but from the corner of his eye, Arthur sees him angle his head closer. “What are fronds for?”

At that, Arthur rolls his eyes, and when he can’t help but smile uninhibited, it doesn’t even feel like defeat. “Happy Christmas, Merlin,” he murmurs.

“Happy Christmas, Arthur.”

_End._

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently it’s a bad idea to listen to ‘Punk Goes Christmas’ while trying to write a cute Merthur Christmas fic. It ends up a little depressing and a lot off-topic.
> 
> Recipe for the hot chocolate is [here](http://www.creative-culinary.com/mexican-hot-chocolate-with-tequila-and-cayenne-pepper/).


End file.
